“Well, Sir Matthew,” he said at last, “I’ll give you this chance. If it does not come off your commission is mine. You’ll have to sell out.”
“And I will, Barclay. But there’s no fear. The game’s won, sir. After a long siege the lady has at last surrendered.”
“A young and pretty woman, eh, Sir Matthew?”
“Well—er—not too young,” said the great dragoon. “I don’t care for bread-and-butter misses.”
“Drelincourt, sure enough,” said Barclay to himself, as he wrote out the customary form on a bill stamp. “Well, let the old fool marry him. He’ll make her pay for it pretty sharply, I’ll be bound. I shall get my money back, and he’ll save his commission, which will go for future loans.”
“There, Sir Matthew, sign that, please,” he said aloud.
“Barclay, you’re a gentleman. I’m a made man, and you shall have all the other bills taken up.”
He scratched his name across the bill, passed it back, and Barclay counted out some notes and gave them in exchange.
“That’s your sort,” cried Sir Matthew, counting the notes. “Why, Barclay, the bill was for a hundred. Here are only notes for sixty.”
“Quite right, Sir Matthew: the other is for the discount.”